


fire, water, karma

by plastiswafers



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastiswafers/pseuds/plastiswafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Confidence is a plus; communication skills are a requisite. Neither Sebastian nor Dave seems to have gotten the memo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fire, water, karma

Sebastian's mother told him once that people laugh at what he says because they're not sure if he's trying to be funny or not. It's this comment that springs to mind as he surveys the man who's taken a seat next to him at the bar, the one who's doing his best to valiantly fight onwards despite the vaguely unsure look on his face. Sebastian doesn't mind. He's accustomed to being disarming—done his best to cultivate it, really, so affirmations that it's doing the trick are never anything but welcome.

It's kind of funny, anyway, watching the guy try to puzzle out whether or not Sebastian's a college student or older and the faint look of horror that bubbles up when he discovers Sebastian is still a junior in high school. Then comes the self-disgust, then the careful consideration, and finally, the giving in, helped along considerably by the appearance of Sebastian's slick pink tongue at the corner of his mouth at opportune moments. It's no surprise when the guy finally plucks up the courage to take this where they've both known it's been going to go all along.

“So,” he says, and Sebastian really hopes that isn't supposed to be his sexy voice, because in that case they might have a problem. “What do you say we take this back to my place?”

Sebastian leans forward, eyes glittering and a hint of a smile tracing his lips. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says lowly. “Why waste all the time heading over there when the bathroom here is every bit as serviceable? I can vouch for that, by the way.”

He can tell that he's gone and pulled the disarming thing again, which is good. Confidence is sexy, but a cohesive understanding of where the two of them stand is even sexier. The guy considers it for a moment before grabbing Sebastian's hand and standing. Sebastian smiles. As he leads him to the back of Scandals with a plan formulating in his mind, Sebastian feels the dark pair of eyes on him but chooses to ignore them. He's used to being the center of attention. It doesn't mean he always has to acknowledge it.

-

The Lima Bean is always distressingly crowded, even in late afternoon when Sebastian feels like most of the town should have gotten their caffeine fix out of the way. He sits with his long legs stretched out onto the chair aside him and a copy of Candide open in his lap. He's about to take a sip of his coffee—black, because he enjoys the way the barista wrinkles her nose in disdain when he tells her he likes it as black as his men—when two very familiar silhouettes eke their way into the corner of his eye.

“Sebastian.” It's impressive how much distaste Kurt manages to infuse into that one word, especially considering that he was the one to initiate this conversation in the first place. Blaine stands next to him, quiet, shuffling like some sort of awkward sidekick, and Sebastian hates them a little bit, for being this sort of fortified unit that he couldn't break through just because he wanted to.

“Kurt. Blaine.” He makes sure to lace his tone with every bit of ironic detachment he can muster. Nothing like letting the other party know how little you care to make yourself not care. “Do you want something? I'm aware that my face is a pretty lovely one to to gape at wordlessly, but I was under the impression that the two of you had had your fill of that.”

Blaine's brow furrows and Kurt gets that bitchy look on his face and Sebastian takes some solace in the fact that he's capable of irritating them every bit as much as they irritate him. “We came over here,” Kurt says icily, and really, since when is he the spokesman in this relationship? Is Blaine not capable of communicating for himself or something? He'd like to make a quip about unhealthy relationships but Kurt's still talking and Sebastian thinks maybe he should at least attempt to pay attention to whatever drivel spews out of his mouth. “We came over here to tell you that Dave's out of the hospital. Dave Karofsky. You know, the one who...you dedicated the Regionals performance to. We figured that you might want to know.”

Sebastian quirks an eyebrow and he hopes that the two of them take it as evidence of his supreme indifference. It's not like he doesn't know who Karofsky is, hasn't wondered about him periodically over the last couple of weeks, hasn't felt his stomach twist into anxious and unwanted knots like it always did whenever the subject of anything heavier than that of the prospect of his next fuck came to prominence. But Kurt and Blaine don't need to know that. His initial little outpouring of emotion immediately ex post facto was more than enough, thank you very much, and not something Sebastian was looking to revisit any time soon—no more salt slushies, maybe, but no sitting around the campfire singing kumbayah either. Yet Kurt and Blaine seemed dangerously inclined to believe he inclined towards the latter, and Sebastian was going to disabuse them of that notion if it killed him—or preferably, them.

“That's great,” Sebastian says with an affect of enthusiasm that can only be seen as mocking. “Be sure to send him my regards and tell him I'm glad he's not dead. There're plenty enough people out there who'll be looking to kill him now that he's been exposed as a homo, no need to add himself to that number, hmm?”

It's Blaine who shifts angrily this time and good—silent support doesn't look very good on him. “You could at least pretend to care, Sebastian,” he says. “Or was that what you were doing before, when you set up the donations for him? Just wanted to wait for the appropriate amount of time to pass before you could go back to being a douche bag?”

Sebastian smirks because he knows that it's exactly the reaction they don't want. He's aware, on some level, that he could make this work if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to. Being hated is so much easier than the delicate balance of maintaining a friendship if it's somebody you don't have the convenience of throwing away after a night of frantic rutting; the sooner that Kurt and Blaine got the picture, the better for everyone. “What can I say? I'm an enigma. Play my cards close to the chest. It's what keeps life fun.”

Blaine shakes his head and Sebastian leans back and picks up his book once more to signify that the conversation is over. Thankfully, he and his boyfriend get the clue. “Whatever, Sebastian,” Kurt says, and Sebastian only rolls his eyes in response. They stalk away and Sebastian's mind turns back to Voltaire. For the most part. So Dave Karofsky is out of the hospital. Good to know. Maybe Sebastian would send a card. If he felt like it, of course.

-

Warbler practice just seems pointless now and Sebastian hates it. He's never bothered to pretend that he got into performing because of some unabashed adoration for the spirit and meaning of it all; Sebastian got into performing because he is good at it and he likes to win, just like he got into lacrosse once it became clear that basketball wasn't going to work out due to his unprecedented ability to foul out during every game, even when taking into account his impressive shooting average from within the paint. Lacrosse is where he's headed now, actually, now that the daily exercise in masochism is over with. He's slipped off his jacket and he's heading out to his car to fetch his stick—and really, god bless lacrosse for permitting him to make so many “stick and ball” jokes—when he's intercepted. Well, not intercepted, exactly. More like he catches sight of somebody and stops dead in his tracks.

“Sebastian!” And damn but he was really hoping that this was just some sort of unfortunate coincidence, but of course it isn't. He turns around at the sound of his name and who can blame him if the smile on his face seems a little fixed? Probably a lot of people, actually, but Sebastian doesn't really give a fuck.

“Hey there, big guy.” Oh, that probably isn't the best thing to say, is it? Karofsky tried to kill himself because he's gay, but Sebastian has made some pointed comments about his size in the past, which probably didn't do wonders for the boy's self-esteem...oh well.

Karofsky doesn't seem to mind. Sebastian doesn't know whether to be put out by that or not. “Hey,” Karofsky says, and he looks about as awkward as Sebastian feels. Sebastian would feel bad for him, maybe, if Karofsky wasn't the one who foisted this little meeting on him in the first place. “I know you've probably got things to do so I'll try to make this short, but I just wanted to say...thank you. For what you did at Regionals. Kurt told me about it.”

Sebastian becomes acutely aware that nobody is ever going to let him live that little stunt down. What else would Karofsky be thanking him for, anyway? Certainly not the quip about his Liberace brows—a statement Sebastian will stand by, mind you. He tries to contort his mouth into a smile somewhere near a facsimile of genuineness. “You're very, very welcome,” he says, and brushes by Dave in one swift motion. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to lacrosse practice.”

Karofsky grabs his arm and Sebastian freezes. “Wait,” Dave says, and Sebastian is suddenly reminded of the foolishness of ever taking anybody's promises of brevity at face value. “I was hoping—I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee at some point. Just to talk. Only if you want to.”

Sebastian eyes him critically. Confidence is sexy and Dave appears to have absolutely none of that. Unsurprising, maybe, and perhaps not all that important considering Sebastian's intentions or lack thereof, but still unsettling and almost sort of depressing. He could say no, and part of him wants to, but for once Sebastian chooses to listen to his better nature. He can feel the inevitably regret start to sink in as he leans forward to pluck Dave's phone out of the pocket of his jacket. “Scandals,” he says as his programs his number into Dave's contact list, adding a winking face to the end of his name just because he can. “Friday. Nine p.m. I'll be there. If you so happen to be there as well, maybe I'll be inclined to speak to you if you sit down next to me. Anything can happen once I've got a few shots in me.”

“Sounds good to me.” Dave has the audacity to look pleased and Sebastian has to suppress a scowl. “Friday at nine. I'll see you then.”

He wanders off with a short little wave. Sebastian remembers what he was doing and goes to open the trunk of his car. He has a feeling that this is one of those things that's going to be held against him somewhere down the line. He really needs to stop doing that.

-

Sebastian's not drunk yet, a fact that he greatly laments. He stares at the half-empty bottle of beer ahead of him and feels a seething grumpiness that he wants nothing more than to ignore. It's 9:30. He's already had two perfectly acceptable men come and give him the once over, men with only partly cringe-worthy pick-up lines and everything, but Sebastian ignored them in favor of the desperately lonely gay boy he was supposed to be meeting here tonight. Maybe Dave just wasn't coming. Maybe he had found something better to do. Maybe Kurt Hummel had finally succumbed to his charms or something. Whatever. Sebastian couldn't care less. The fewer people he saw at Scandals who could identify him by both first and last name, the better.

He's just reached this conclusion when somebody sits down next to him. Sebastian glances at him sidelong and his eyes narrow when he sees that it's Karofsky. “You're late,” he says, his words slightly clipped as he sips at his drink.

“I didn't realize that this was exactly set in stone.” Dave's lost some of that hunted animal look he's been sporting every other time Sebastian's seen him as of late. That's probably a good thing. Dave plus animals just puts Sebastian in mind of a hippo, or maybe a rhino. He probably shouldn't mention that fact.

“It wasn't,” Sebastian says derisively. “I would have been here anyway. So, you were the one who wanted to 'hang out,' as it were. Got something you want to stay or just want to sit here and look at each other?”

Dave glares. That's good. It's nice to know that he's capable. “I wanted to say thank you,” he tries.

“I've heard that one. I figured you'd have something else to add if you wanted to go to the trouble of meeting again instead of just stalking me outside my school.”

The glare intensifies. It's at wonderful odds with the words that are coming out of his mouth. Sebastian finds it almost fascinating. It's the sort of thing he wishes his psychologist could get a look at. “I wanted to actually show you that I'm thankful, not just say it,” Dave explains. “Which is why I wanted to get coffee. But you wanted this. And now we're here.”

Sebastian looks at him for a long moment, then stands. “How about this? Dance with me. That'll be more than enough thanks for me.” He pulls Dave to his feet before there's any chance to protest. Or change his mind. Either one.

-

Dave's not a very good dancer and he's clearly uncomfortable, though Sebastian can't tell if he's uncomfortable because of Sebastian particularly or the situation in general. He's doing his part to try to make him feel a little less jumpy—his hands are firmly on Dave's hips, rather than roaming like they'd be doing with anybody else. Part of that is because the objective here isn't to get Dave to take him home and fuck him senseless, like the objective is every other night. The other part is that Sebastian's already felt way too guilty about one suicide attempt; he'd like to avoid any others.

All the same, his better nature wins out eventually when Dave jostles him and steps on his foot yet another fucking time. “Still trying to locate your center of gravity?” Sebastian says, loudly so as to make himself heard over the thudding music. He's pretty good at that.

Dave looks down and yeah, wrong thing to say, yet again. Sebastian needs to create some sort of mental box into which he can file all these sort of comments when he's around emotionally fragile people. Only then, though. Dave still manages to surprise him by volleying back. “Why are you like this?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, a movement that Dave can't see in the dim light. He'd pretend to not know what he's talking about but that would just be boring at this point. Good thing there are so many ways to be evasive. “Born this way.”

“I mean it.” Sebastian hadn't really expected him to drop it but there had been that small smidgen of hope. “It's like you think every nice thing you do has to be followed up by three dickish ones.”

Sebastian doesn't feel much like dancing anymore. “Oh, so is it psychoanalysis hour now? Going to show me some inkblots next?”

“Sebastian.” Sebastian doesn't want to meet his gaze but does it anyway, confident that at the very least he can stare him down. “You don't have to pretend like you aren't capable of being a nice person.”

“I guess I'm just not a fan of false advertising.” Sebastian's disentangling before he even realizes it. That was enough of a thank you for him—and really, Dave is an incredibly shitty dancer. He's headed back to the bar to grab his jacket where he left it on the stool and Dave grabs his arm again, only this time Sebastian shakes it off and keeps moving.

“I don't think it's false advertising.” Dave's stepped in front of him to intercept him and Sebastian is cursing Dave's comparative bulk right about now. They're farther from the dance floor and it's easier to hear one another—yet another thing to lament when Sebastian's not in the mood for a real conversation. “I don't understand why you're so offended that I'm telling you I think you can be a nice person.”

Where to start? Sebastian was the one who derided psychoanalysis hour so he isn't exactly itching to begin. When he gets down to it, it's because it's just so blessedly easier. Being perceived as a asshole means that any inclinations towards kindness are seen as anomalies rather than something to expect; contrary to many beliefs, Sebastian has always excelled greatly in the domain of low expectations and he isn't looking to change that any time soon. Not that he can say any of this to Dave. “I'm offended when people try to convince me I'm a nice person with nothing to base that off of except for one isolated incident, especially when they're ignoring everything else I've ever done.”

“So you're not always the nicest.” Dave's stepped forward and Sebastian's acutely aware of the overlap of their personal space bubbles. He's not usually aware of that sort of thing. He's not sure what that says. “Neither am I. I'm sure—I'm sure Kurt could tell you all about that. Or anybody else at McKinley, really. That's why I want to acknowledge it when you are being nice. When you've done something nice. Because it's important and it's shitty when you don't get enough credit.”

This time it's Sebastian who's not sure what to say. He wants to stare at his toes like Dave was only a few moments before but he's prideful enough so as to not want to duck his head. Luckily he doesn't have to ponder the problem for long, because before he realizes it Dave's leaning in even closer, close enough to press his lips against Sebastian's in a slow kiss.

He can't remember the last slow kiss he had. Sebastian's a much bigger fan of the ripping your clothes of, frantic variety. Either Dave isn't, or he hasn't quite graduated to that level yet; Sebastian's going to let him take the lead since he's the one who initiated it, but it's like he's not quite sure what he's allowed to do. It's the inertia of the inexperienced. Sebastian hates himself for finding it almost endearing. Sebastian lets him struggle along a little bit before he pulls away with a small smile. “Wow, you really suck at that.”

Whoops. Dave actually looks hurt now, and Sebastian realizes that there are some times when even the hardiest of egos can't handle being stomped on. “Good thing you're going to have such a good teacher,” he murmurs.

He kisses Dave this time. The conversation isn't over yet. Sebastian has a feeling it'll go better now, anyway. He doesn't mind.


End file.
